


Herself

by Dartington



Category: Major Crimes (TV), The Closer
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-07
Updated: 2015-05-07
Packaged: 2018-03-29 11:59:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3895519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dartington/pseuds/Dartington
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This ficlet takes place after the events of Trial by Fire, episode 14, season 3.</p>
<p>Sharon Raydor returns home to find the letter left by Jackson.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Herself

She comes home and immediately knows that she is alone. The house is empty. Empty of boys and men, clutter and suitcases, homework and dinner. It’s her own space again and she fills it up with the tension and anticipation she’s fielded all day.

She pauses at the light switch. This room seems so much larger than she is used to seeing it. This home that has been cozy and enough for years, now she can’t help but feel the silence that once was like a hug, like a reprieve, seems suddenly too much. She’s gotten used to more sound, more demands…just more.

And yet, right now, quiet and solitary—she welcomes it. She has some space to grieve. Because she will grieve. She has before, but she doesn’t think she will again, not by tomorrow. Together, she and Jackson broke something today. They have repaired it by degrees before—but not now. This time, Sharon didn’t soften blows. She drove them home and nullified any need for Jackson. She hasn’t really needed him for years. Today she proved it, at his expense. Jackson’s never really been hurt by Sharon before. He’s felt her disappointment, her anger, her sadness, her judgment. But this trip, this time, something shifted. He felt it, she felt it and then she obliterated him professionally and personally. And this time, she walked away from everything.

There’s a letter waiting for her on the table. “Sharon.” That’s all. Just her name. She picks it up, holds it, weighing it in her hand. It hardly weighs a thing, but she finds herself surprised she can lift it. And what will it say? Will it say what it has said a few too many times before? Will it say anything she doesn’t already know? Will it blame her any more than she already blames herself? Will it forgive her for trespasses she’s not yet ready to accept forgiveness from? She pauses, will it have any words for Rusty? And it’s this, finally, that almost makes her break the seal.

But then, and it’s always the small things, she muses, she realizes that this latest letter, this last letter—well, it’s written on her own stationary. Her stationary. It shouldn’t matter but it does. He’s “Dear Jane-ing” her—again—and he’s using all her own orderliness and preparation against her. Her paper, her envelopes, her pen, her table, her home, it’s all _hers_. And he just gathered whatever was near and easy and convenient, and wrote it all off. Again.

It’s not that she can’t face the truth (in its many variations) in that letter. She can. She knows she played a heavy hand in this. It will take her time to work it out. She _needs_ some time to be with it and process. And this quiet house, hers alone, will help tonight. Rusty will come home eventually. She’ll leave a light on for him, and her door will be open so if he wants to talk, he can. She’ll have had an opportunity to organize her thoughts. She’ll answer his questions as honestly as she can. And even those she can’t, she’ll try.

But that letter. Her curiosity’s trumped by anger and a lingering sense of shame. She tears it once, twice, three times. _There. It’s done._ Right now, she needs to get out of these work clothes and into something less stifling. She needs a glass of wine. She needs to walk out on that porch and sit and breathe. She’s going to ask for patience and understanding, and she thinks she might just be asking for all of them. She’s going to sit out there, under the starry night, and be herself. Just herself, just for a little while. Just until Rusty gets home.

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer 1: This story is intended for entertainment only. I neither own, nor profit from either The Closer or Major Crimes. 
> 
> Disclaimer 2: All mistakes, misspellings, etc. are mine alone. I review and edit myself, but I'm sure a few grim errors made it through.


End file.
